


Rough Hunt

by SaltyWords (agent4hire22)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-01 17:42:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16288976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent4hire22/pseuds/SaltyWords
Summary: “I might’a been a lot of things if we weren’t here, but a doc ain’t one of ‘em,” Dean mumbled back.





	Rough Hunt

**Author's Note:**

> A ficlet I wrote for one of my Suptober art prompts. I figured I might as well throw it up on here too.

For all the things Dean pretended to be, his hands never failed to give him away. Touch soft and calculated, comforting, as he ran the sewing needle through the end of the bloody split. He tied the floss off at the skin. “You would have been a good doctor,” Castiel said. He couldn’t help himself. It was quiet, warm. Just loud enough to fit in the space between them with the defunct AC. 

“I might’a been a lot of things if we weren’t here, but a doc ain’t one of ‘em,” Dean mumbled back. The neighbors in the room next door were arguing. Someone wanted money, someone didn’t want to give it. 

He turned, sifted through the old, white first aid kit at his thigh. It’d tucked close to him where the old motel mattress bent under his weight. “A bus driver, maybe. Garbage guy. Mechanic.” He snipped the extra string with a pair of sheers and went down for the rag this time, wiped warm water gently over Castiel’s gash. Goosebumps chased after the cotton. “No, wait. Who’re those guys that keep the graves clean?”

“Grounds Keepers—”

“Groundskeeper, yeah. I’d be one of those.”

Castiel swallowed. He wanted to tell Dean that he didn’t give himself enough credit, that he could have been anything he wanted, but knew it would never get heard. Dean would scoff it off. He would shut the first aid kit a little too loud, and wander away to the kitchenette to pour the rest of that Jack into the bottom of his awaiting glass. He would talk about the next hunt, or how far away Sam was to the motel, or— He watched Dean instead. Watched him unroll the gauze, chew his lip as he snipped it. Watched his shoulders heave a sigh. “Maybe I coulda been a contractor,” he continued, much to Castiel’s surprise. “Or a dad… or a husband, if things were different.” He looked up, just a glance, but his eyes hit Cas sad. “Maybe I coulda made someone happy.”

“You make me happy now.” 

It was a knee-jerk response, and maybe Cas was still a little sleep-drunk from the swan dive he took off the edge of the barn after the ghost had caught him empty on salt rounds. But, his face had washed hot before he could blink himself back into the room. Back to the wide-open, stunned expression Dean had plastered on his face in place of the pinched brow before it. 

Castiel’s flush was spreading. Now it was on Dean’s cheeks too. 

Cas tried to fix it. “I just mean...” He stumbled, cleared his throat. “I just mean, I know I’m not… other people, but—” He flopped his free hand toward the parking lot window. To the people getting in and out of their cars, the couples, the buildings, the streets, the world on the other side of the faded rose wallpaper and added, “It’s just— For what it’s worth,” like the goddamn provision was going to be Dean’s shock reset button.

Instead, Dean’s pursed lips fell open as his eyes ate a wobbly line through Castiel’s face. He gathered a breath. “You’re happy?” he asked. His fingers curled around the roll of tape.

“What?”

“You’re telling me you’re happy in this by-the-hour motel that smells like rat poison and mold? Graceless? Wingless? Stuck hunting.”

“I--yes.”

“You’re happy with me?”

A smile caught the edges of Castiel’s mouth and he puffed a little laugh. “Yes,” he said again, firmer. “ _Because of you_ , actually.”

Dean kissed him. A slow, easy touch, just like his fingers with the floss. 

He tasted like sweat and blood, lips hot enough to catch fire. He smelled like the buckwheat that’d been growing wild in the field they’d dug up. That unruly feeling worming around Castiel’s stomach grew legs and ran away with his thoughts. He threaded fingers through the hair at Dean’s temple, down through the nape of his neck. Hummed as the tip of Dean’s tongue broke the barrier and flirted against his. He pulled Dean closer and the bed creaked as the weight on it shifted together. The first aid kit rattled. 

Castiel’s arm ached where he’d lost the fight against the sharp edge of a backhoe, but the neighbors were quiet now. All the headlights in the parking lot were out, and Dean’s legs were around him for the first time. 

“Maybe I coulda been a doctor,” he whispered. 

**Author's Note:**

> I’m [winchester-reload](http://winchester-reload.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, come say hi! And check out the [#suptober art challenge!](http://winchester-reload.tumblr.com/tagged/suptoberart2018)


End file.
